Taming His Rockstar

by Morgan, Samantha

  Chapter 4

  The best thing about finishing a tour is that I get to have a few weeks to myself before the label starts disturbing me about what I plan to do for my next album. The worst thing about finishing a tour is that I get to have a few weeks to myself with no idea what to do. Three days after doing nothing but lounging on the beach and pretending to read the new novel Jane promised me was so interesting I would be unable to put it down, I start wondering why I was so eager for the tour to be over. At least on the tour, I knew what I had to do every night. I had an itinerary to follow, which meant I didn’t need to worry about deciding what to do. I ‘m terrible at making up my mind. A funny fact, considering how many people assume and depend on me to be decisive. It’s not that I don’t make decisions. I do. After very lengthy and well-detailed research, including a breakdown about the pros and cons of every single move I’m about to make.

  This is okay when I need to make big moves, like starting a fashion line or buying shares in a company. It usually means I rarely make mistakes. But it doesn’t stop at making business decisions. I’m bad at deciding almost anything. I hate restaurant menus because there are always like ten things I want to try but can’t because my stomach just can’t consume them. I hated having to pick my outfit myself and largely leave that in the hands of Jane when I’m on tour. But on break, there is no Jane to come up with amazing outfits effortlessly thrown together. Today, I had spent almost an hour deciding what outfit to wear to lounge on the beach. And this morning, I experienced a small crisis when I opened the fridge and instead of finding the milk I normally use, I saw three other brands I have never seen before. I just hate making decisions without knowing for certain if they are the best of the available lots. One thing I know for certain, though, is the decision to come spend some time on the beach may have not been my best one. But I don’t know where to go next, and slowly, I begin to feel the itch at the base of my spine. That itch I always feel right before I go and do something impulsive and reckless. The last time I felt that itch, I got married to a man I barely knew in a chapel in Las Vegas I could never find again. It cost me a mint to get my freedom back, and now I fight hard to keep it. Across from me, a man winks at me. He’s wearing swimming trunks, and his hair is wet from the ocean. He’s sexy and hot, and I can feel my juices stirring and my itch getting worse. Before I do something I’ll regret, like wink back and call him over or get on my knees and ask if he’ll marry me, I pick up my phone and call Jane.

  “Come get me before I pull another Michael.”

  Jane doesn’t ask any questions. “I’ll take the next flight out,” she says like a true friend. “The boys need a vacation, and Travis is going back on the road with some of his old buddies.”

  “Again?”

  “It’s just for a couple of days.” Jane pauses, and even though she’s trying to play it cool, I know just how much she’ll miss him. “Besides, with him gone, I can spend all my time with you. I don’t know why you chose to go to California in the first place.”

  I’m starting to wonder that myself. It seemed like a good idea to take a break from anyone at first, but now I’m starting to regret it. Not like I’d let Jane know that. It’s bad enough that Travis is not here to sap off some of that boundless energy she seems to never run out of. On the one hand, it means that she will be here to dump all of that energy on me. On the other hand, it means she will be here to dump all of that energy on me. I look up and find sexy beach boy still staring at me with a look that says he is just waiting for me to give him the first sign, and he is going to gobble at it. I feel that itch climb just a little higher on my spine.

  “Get here fast, okay?” I say to Jane. “And don’t forget the cookies.”

  * * *

  Jane doesn’t forget the cookies. It’s the first thing she gives me when I pick her up at the airport.

  “Stella said I should say hi,” she says as I collect the Tupperware dish from her and immediately open it. “She also said I should tell you that she misses you.”

  I immediately feel guilty. “Is that what she said?” I ask, mouth full of Stella’s special cookies.

  Far as I know, I’m the only one she bakes them for. She used to have a son in the army, and she would bake them and send them to him as part of his care package. But he died in action, and ever since, I’m the only one she bakes them for. I met Stella back when I was still seventeen, living alone and playing guitar for a local rock band in dive bars and small venues. Stella lived in the apartment next to mine, and slowly, she became like the mother I never had. Things didn’t start out rosy between us at first. She hated the noise I made with my guitar and threatened to report me to the cops many times after guessing rightly that I was too young to be living alone. Then one night, she heard some noises coming from my apartment and walked in to find me having a nightmare. The next day, she knocked on my door with my very first batch of Stella’s special cookies. And after that, she always looked out for me. It was in her arms I cried every time a record label told me I wasn’t good enough for them, and when my first boyfriend broke my heart, she offered to go help me break his head. Then offered me her cookies after I said no. She was the first person I called after I signed my first major contract, and next to Jane and her boys, she is the only family I have left. I offered to move her out of the old building she used to live in so many times, and she always refused my help. So, I bought the building and renovated it, paying special attention to her apartment. I figured she knew I was the one, but she never mentioned it, except to send a special batch of her cookies on the day the building was finished. Normally, I stop by every once in a while, but it has been a long time since I stopped by to visit, even though I make sure to call regularly.

  “No,” Jane answered my question. “She said to tell you that your voice sounded a little tired in your last show, and that you should take a lot of rest. She also said to tell you not to forget to take two teaspoons of apple cider vinegar—”

  “And one teaspoon of honey for my voice,” I finish for her. “I know. I’ll call her later.”

  Jane shakes her head as she pushes the last of her luggage in the trunk of the car and walks around to join me in the front.

  “I thought you were going to come with the boys?”

  “Dropped them off at my mom’s. They need a vacation, and she misses them.” Jane checks her makeup in the overhead mirror. “Win for me, and a win for you.”

  “I don’t understand how not seeing my godsons is a win for me?”

  She gives me a grin that has the right hint of naughty. “It’s a win for you because now you won’t have to worry about finding a babysitter when we go out and party all night.”

  “Wait . . . ! What?” I turned to look at her. “We are not going out to party all night.”

  “Sure, we are. Why else did you think I came here?”

  “Because you wanted to spend some time with me?” I reply, already shaking my head when I see the look in her eyes.

  “And I will spend time with you. Only we will be doing it in a club or a bar or somewhere we can get drunk and flirt with hot boys.” She waves her ring finger. “Well, I can only drink and flirt. But you, maybe you’ll get lucky and find someone who’ll let you sit on their face.”

  “Jane!” I exclaim, looking around as if I’m scared someone can hear her, even though we are in a locked car with the windows up.

  “What?”

  I sigh and grip the steering wheel. “You know, you do this all the time.”

  “Do what?”

  “Get hypersexual when you’re away from Travis.” I turn to the road and start the car. “It’s like all the energy you’re supposed to use to have sex with him you pour on me.”

  Jane laughs, her voice a twinkle in my car, and I have to admit, it’s great having her with me. “I don’t see why you’re complaining. If you ask me, it’s a good thing.”

  I sigh and drive away from the parking spot, checking my rearview mirror for any traffic.<
br />
  “Have you heard anything about the new album?” I ask.

  “No, and I don’t know why you’re asking me. You’re supposed to be on vacation. That means for the next two weeks, I’m your friend, not your agent.” She thinks about that. “Unless it’s an emergency or something . . .”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply with a grin. “So, what next?”

  “Now we go shopping.” She takes a look at the tank top and jean shorts I’m wearing. “We need to find you something that screams I’m open for business.”

  “I don’t think I like very much being regarded as a commodity.”

  “Oh, come off your high horse.” Jane waves my faux complaints away with a roll of her eyes. “We’re looking for someone to screw your brains out, not like we’re selling you off or something.”

  “When did you say Travis was coming back again?” I ask as I stop at a red light.

  Jane bursts into laughter.

  Chapter 5

  Fifteen minutes after we walk into the mall, I remember why I don’t always jump at the chance to shop with Jane. She makes me try on everything and just ends up buying them either way. One hour after going from store to store, we both have almost ten bags between us, and I won’t be surprised if Windsor, my financial manager, calls to ask me if everything is okay. I almost sigh in relief when Jane takes us back to the car. But my relief is short-lived because she merely dumps the shopping bags we are carrying in the back seat of the car and pulls me away when I move toward the front of the car.

  “What?”

  “We are not done shopping,” she replies to my question, feeding more coins into the parking meter.

  “What do you mean, we’re not done shopping? I just bought an entire new wardrobe.”

  “Yes, because you needed a new wardrobe. Now we’re going to look for a dress you’re wearing to the club tonight.” She turns around and holds out a hand for me. “Remember what I said about making a statement? If we walk in and men don’t pick their jaws from the floor or adjust their pants, then I’ve failed you.”

  I stare at her hand and shake my head. “No. I’m a grown woman, and I don’t have to do this.”

  “Of course you don’t.” She gives me an innocent smile I didn’t believe for one second. “But we both know you want to.”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Come on. You love going shopping with me. You pretend not to, but you love that I make you do it since we both know you won’t do it for yourself.” She moves closer to me. “Remember how you look with those red strappy heels I made you buy, even though you said they won’t look good on you?”

  I don’t reply because I would either have to lie or say she was right.

  “Katie . . .” That hand beckons to me. “Look at the all the stores calling out to us, and in one of them, we’re going to find the perfect dress for you. Now, tell me you don’t want that.”

  I look at that hand. Tell myself I have more self-control than that. Groan when my inner Katie laughs at that statement. Then I take her hand.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to regret this.”

  “No, you won’t,” Jane replies with a chuckle as she wraps her hands around my waist and drags me with her. “And don’t forget, we need to stop at a lingerie store too. If the dress makes his jaw drop, then the lingerie must turn him into a drooling mass eager to please you.”

  I shake my head. “Again, tell me when Travis is coming back?”

  Jane chuckles as she drags me along. We walk into some stores and check out their dresses with Jane rejecting all of them and dragging me to the next one where we start our perusal all over again. I buy four sets of lingerie and a daring and sexy lace corset getup I doubt I’ll ever wear. But the perfect dress for the night’s plan remains elusive, and Jane hauls me to the next store to continue trying to find it. We walk along almost all the shops on the street and are quickly running out of shops when I see a sign that catches my eye. It’s a sex shop, and it’s hard to miss the silk handcuffs and whip on display outside the shop.

  “You wanna check it out?” Jane asks.

  The first thing I do is look around to see if there is anyone with a camera held up, ready to take a picture of me. I can only imagine the kind of fodder that would appear on the gossip blogs tomorrow if I’m caught walking into a sex shop. And it seems Jane has the same thought even if she doesn’t share my view.

  “Come on.” She pulls at my hand. “Let’s go in. Hey, maybe you could get a new toy.”

  “If I wanted a sex toy, I’d order one online like I usually do,” I protest, digging my heels in the ground. “You have any idea what would happen if someone takes a picture of me going in there? Or worse, actually inside there?”

  “So, people would know you have sex. I don’t see how that can be bad. Besides, you seem to forget you’re a rock star and not a country or gospel singer. It would be weird if you saw a sex shop and didn’t walk in.” She turns and waves her hand theatrically as if she is drawing on an imaginary board. “Think about it. Rock star sees a sex shop and refuses to go in. What could be wrong with KD?”

  I chuckle at her theatrics. Then I let her pull me inside the shop. Maybe because of what I have seen in the movies I’m expecting the inside of the shop to be dark with red lights and leather everywhere. And I’m a little surprised when I find out the shop looks like any other shop we have visited that day. A popular pop song plays subtly on the speakers. The lights are not too bright but not too dark either, and everything seems arranged and organized. Just like any other shop. Except in here, there are dildos of varying degrees on the shelves and vibrators in display cases. But that isn’t all. The shop is big and seems to contain everything sex related. From movies to books, toys and machines, some of which look nothing like what I can imagine someone would need to have sex with. I mean, I’m not a total prude or anything. I’ll even admit to having done a little bit of most things. But there are things I see that just don’t make any sense to me.

  “What’s that?” I point at a funny contraption that looks like it should belong in an auto shop.

  “That’s the Sybian,” a lady wearing the shop uniform replies.

  Jane nods. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of this thing.” She frowns as she stares at it. “But isn’t it supposed to come with a . . .”

  The assistant points to a small table beside the machine where I can see a selection of rubber dildos, each one more weirdly shaped than the next.

  “How does it work?” I ask curiously.

  “Well.” The assistant picks one up and screws it on.

  Then she turns the machine on, and all of a sudden, I don’t need her to explain anything to me.

  “Oh,” I exclaim as I see it move up and down, the speed slowly increasing until it’s moving at a dizzying speed. “Who the hell is going to want that?”

  The assistant smiles. “Some people like it.”

  Jane shakes her head. “Me, I prefer to feel the weight of the person moving inside me, above me.”

  As for me, I turn away to hide my blush.

  “What do you need?” our assistant asks us. “I could help you out if there is a particular need you’re trying to meet.” She seems to size up the both of us. “We have a nice collection of strap-ons and—”

  “Oh,” Jane laughs out. “You think we’re together? Hell no!”

  “Hey,” I protest.

  Jane grins as she looks at me. “Oh, it’s not like that, honey. You know if anything should ever happen to Travis, then you’re the first person on my list.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, grinning back at her.

  “No.” Jane turns back to her assistant. “We’re just here to pick a new personal play toy for my friend here. Her last one suddenly stopped working. Considering how long since her last long-term relationship, I don’t think we need to figure out why that is.”

  I tug at Jane’s hands, wondering why she’s throwing caution to the wind and revealing what should be person
al details to some strange shop assistant we just met.

  “Well, we have a great selection of vibrators and wands,” our assistant replies. “Please follow me.”

  As we are walking with her, a display suddenly catches my eye, and I stop to look at it. A male mannequin dressed in a suit has a female kneeling in front of him. She has on a leather catsuit that in my opinion looks really uncomfortable. But I’m more interested in the collar around her neck, the rope around her hands and legs that secures them together, and the way her head is bowed. The whip in his hand is lifted in the air as if he is about to use it. There is something . . . It’s hard to find the words to describe it. Titillating is what I come close to. There’s something titillating about how subservient she looks. She would do whatever he wanted her to do. She wouldn’t have to worry about anything; as long as she did what he asked her to do she would be pleasing him. Almost like finding freedom in the ropes that held her bound.

  “You ever tried it before?” I ask Jane who has stopped to admire the display with me.

  “Yeah.” She smiles when I turn to look at her. “A long time ago and not with Travis. Didn’t like it one bit. The dumbass kept telling me what to do, and when I grabbed his junk to go down with him, he pushed me down and tried to spank me.” She shakes her head. “Can you even imagine? I’m giving him something any guy would die to get, and he thought the best way to respond to that was to punish me for it. Never tried it again.”